


I'm Your Secretary

by OccasionallyCreative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Secretary (2002) Fusion, Dom/sub, F/M, First Order Rey (Star Wars), I don't know what this is but it's something, Resistance Member Ben Solo, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/pseuds/OccasionallyCreative
Summary: Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of datapads over the desk.“I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile.“They’re great reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp, To Find Your Kiss: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	I'm Your Secretary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firelord65](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/gifts).



> Hello there! I don't know what this is, but it's something... I just took the prompts of "First Order!Rey and Resistance!Ben" and kinda ran with it? I hope it works. In some way. 
> 
> It should be noted that this isn't as... extreme as the 2002 film, so there's no 'hard' kink here like there is in the film (for instance, though Rey does wait for Ben, it's for hours, not days like Maggie Gyllenhaal's character does in the film). Hence the "M" rating.

Defecting to the Resistance was not what Officer Rey Niima thought it would be.

The Resistance’s latest base was on Crait. That much Rey knew, but her superiors told her, over and over with arrogance permeating every sentence, that they were decimated since they’d had to flee from D’Qar.

The Resistance, they said, was an organisation led by starry-eyed dreamers who put things up to fate instead of order.

The ships that occasionally entered the airspace during those long months of that ill-gotten truce, those were just supply ships that the First Order was forced to allow through their blockade.

Something in her heart stirred though, as she looked down at that planet’s surface.

Against all the odds, those dreamers were still surviving. Still fighting.

All those feelings led to a switch being flicked in her head, just as a Resistance soldier looked to her with sympathy, with understanding, and held out his hand.

They'd drilled it into her that if anyone ever defected, they’d know.

But she took the hand of that Resistance soldier, ran through the smoke and... nothing.

No-one shot her down. No-one noticed her.

And as they approached the Resistance’s base, she knew what she was supposed to expect. It was supposed to be chaos, no structure, none with knowledge of how to run a galaxy.

She passed commanders, generals, tacticians, all of them moving calmly between their assigned stations. The difference from what she had known for the last five years was the sense of passion carried by every person who caught her eye.

When they saw her scuffed black uniform, they didn’t scorn her. Instead, they gave a welcoming smile. Others simply nodded at her, a mark of quiet regard for what she had done.

So, they weren’t dreamers. They just didn’t have any fear.

Speaking kindly to her, Finn escorted her to the office of General Organa. The blast doors opened.

For such a notorious figure, a thorn in the side of progress (so claimed the Empire’s archives), Leia Organa was much shorter than Rey had pictured. To protect against the cold, she wore a thick navy cloak that lined her jaw. Her grey hair was brushed back into a high bun.

Her office was orderly, datapads stored away, with a few pot plants dotted along an upper shelf behind her desk.

“Hello, Rey.” General Organa took her hand, her smile warm. “May I say, well done for what you did. It was a very brave thing.”

They spoke for a while. The general was everything her reputation in the First Order claimed she wasn’t. Where they said she was an enemy, she was a friend. She was kind. She was accommodating.

More than that, she was quick on her feet. When Rey admitted that she couldn’t face another battle, all the smoke and fire and chaos, but she truly, genuinely wanted to help, Leia thought for a while and came up with a solution.

"Seems like," she mused, "you need to meet my son."

* * *

“Miss Niima, is it?"

"Yes."

"What do you know about the Force?”

Rey sat up a little straighter. “The Force?”

Commander Solo was silent in response, his attention focused, patiently, on the expectation of her answer.

She remembered then how she must look. Wearing a borrowed Resistance uniform, and with her hair pulled back messily into three buns. It was an old hairstyle she’d worn back on Jakku. They'd switched it for a tight large bun at the nape of her neck on her first day in the First Order.

She must’ve looked so childish now in front of him, but it was the only unsanctioned thing she knew.

In the transport with Finn and his companion Rose, she’d thought unsanctioned was the best thing to arrive in.

After all, she wanted them to like her.

Touching one of the buns, Rey shifted in her seat, looking at the duracrete floor. It was grey and rough to look at. If she walked on it barefoot, it would be rough to the touch.

“I was never – never part of that division, that sector.”

It was his turn to narrow his eyes. “Surely your mentor told you about it.”

“I didn’t have a mentor. None of us. Though... I read something about it in the Empire’s archives,” Rey said quickly, puttering towards a useful answer like the failing engine of a quad-jumper. “It was a weapon used by Luke Skywalker. It can... make things float.”

“It isn’t a weapon,” Commander Solo sighed, sitting up in his chair. “And Luke Skywalker isn’t the only one who can wield it. The Force is…”

He waved his hands in the air in a vague gesture.

“It’s life. Death, destruction.” His gaze refocused on her, and his look changed again. It was remarkable. A hundred emotions could pass over his face in the space it took for her to take a breath. “Rebirth,” he finished, voice dropped to a murmur.

“I – what?”

His attention had returned to that inquisitive look. “There’s something about you."

“Something about me?"

For a moment (or perhaps a few moments), she watched him.

He had tucked his chin against his palm, and he now tapped his middle finger against the hollow of his cheek.

From the moment she’d sat down, even as Finn had explained the situation to his fellow commander, Commander Solo’s eyes had been that quiet dark, with bottomless curiosity.

“My role here,” he began, standing suddenly, “is to log what relics of the Force are found by the Resistance on missions. They bring them to me. I examine them.”

“Using the Force?”

“Using my expertise,” he replied. The words rolled off his tongue. He reached back to pick something up from his desk.

“Usually, I categorise them by their value. In other words, I estimate how much the First Order would be desperate to get their hands on them. You will use this datapad to transcribe and log my reports on those items. I will dictate the content of those reports. It’s boring work.” He pressed an administrative datapad into her hands but didn’t let go of it. Rey lifted her chin, looking him square in the eyes. “Do you think you can do it?”

Rey felt the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.

“I like boring.”

* * *

Commander Solo, she learned this quickly, did not like to be addressed as ‘commander’.

“My mother’s the tactician, not me,” he explained as he put his hand on the low of her back to steer her towards her designated workspace.

The layout of his office space was not the organised lines of the base’s main hub. Neither was it the quiet orderly space of his mother’s offices.

The structure was the same square lines and dark stone as the rest of the base, but as soon as she crossed the barrier of the blast doors into it, the difference in atmosphere was notable.

He had a set of shelves to the right of his large wooden desk, which contained a mixture of printed books, bound by hand, and datapads. Some had cracked screens. In the upper shelves, far to the left, there was a set of books that looked far older than any of the others. On her first day, she’d been unable to stop herself from glancing at them, on and off, while his soft voice dictated a report about a lump of burnished stone. She misspelt ‘containers’ as a result.

Blushing furiously at her mistake, she finished the rest of the report and sent it to his datapad, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

On her third day, he handed her drafts of reports that he’d written by hand in Basic.

She was so taken with the gentle swoops of ink, how novel it was to hold the paper in her hands instead of something metal and lumpen, that she missed the letter ‘p’ in ‘dampener’.

“ _Rey_.” He didn’t raise his voice. She gasped like he had and sat up straight as she turned in her chair to face him.

This was her second week on the job. This was the first time he’d used her name.

“Sorry Commander Solo.”

“Don’t call me that.” Among the things scattered around on his desk, he had a calligraphy set in front of him. And, as he spoke, he picked up the thickest brush. He held it between his long fingers, watching her again. “My mother’s the tactician, not me.”

Rey’s eyes lingered on the pads of his fingers which absentmindedly stroked the thickest part of the brush in a thoughtful, regular rhythm.

Her breath stuck in her throat while the space between her thighs twitched.

Gathering herself, she nodded.

“You’re touching that bun again.”

Rey glanced at her raised arm and she couldn’t help but smile. She twisted her bun around her fingers briefly, then settled her hands in her lap.

“It helps me focus.”

His expression darkened a little, the space between his brows creasing.

“Really.” He stood, his datapad in his hands. His knuckles were white, gripping it so hard. He gripped it harder as he swiped his thumb across the screen. His heavy boots thumped on the duracrete as he approached, and he shoved his datapad into her hands.

“The report you just sent through. Miss Niima, the word ‘idol’ does not have the letter ‘ _d_ ’, twice.” Rey’s mouth dried up. He continued swiping. Every gesture more tightly wound than the last. “In fact, this report has three errors. So far, that’s good for you.”

He dumped his datapad on her desk. Her mistakes were right there, in bright bold blue, for them both to see. From her first report, her first mistake, he’d seen them all. Now he was going to scold her.

He crowded her then, swivelling her chair so she faced him. His left hand, he clenched the back of her chair enough for her to hear the leather squeak. His right hand he shoved onto the arm of her chair. He was quiet for the first few moments as they watched each other, as he watched her, waiting for her to tell him he was breaching a serious boundary.

“This isn't the first time, either. There have been others that I let go in the first few weeks because I know what you’ve been through. I know what the First Order can do. But this cannot go on. Do you know what this makes me look like to the people who read these reports, Miss Niima? A fool.”

He paused. “Type it again, Miss Niima. And get. It. Right.”

* * *

Often, in the First Order, words had double meanings – triple meanings, sometimes. Being commended for your work on a task could mean, that night, Stormtroopers would take you from your bed and put you in a cell; because a good job meant you knew too much.

Since working for the Resistance, working for Ben, life was simpler. If she did something right, she was good. If she made a mistake, she was scolded. Since working for the Resistance, she slept peacefully for the first time in a long time.

There was a double meaning in her reply to his words now.

“You’re a monster.”

_Will you break me?_

There was a soulful look to his eyes then as if he’d heard the thought running as quickly through her head as her heart hammered against her chest.

He leaned closer. Their faces were inches apart. In romantic holofilms that she remembered watching as a child on Jakku, before the First Order and the endless, fruitless coldness of that rigidity, this was the moment where the hero and the heroine would kiss.

“Yes, I am.”

She felt a low buzz at the back of her head. The air around them grew taut. His features were still, but his voice echoed deliciously in her head with his reply.

_Only if you want me to._

She knew the term only loosely; from a report he’d dictated to her at the beginning of the week. In a Holocron that had been found on an ancient planet, he’d found a former Jedi’s memories that told of a bond they’d shared with another.

Ben swipes his trembling fingers across the screen of his datapad. She waited patiently, quietly.

With a shallow breath, he sighed as he pushed the datapad towards her. It was the Force floating between them, that she knew for certain now. No more instructions – just feeling.

On shaky legs, she stood. He stepped back to make room for her as she turned her back to him. The desk came up to the top of her thighs. She felt the edge of it pressing into her flesh as she slowly bent over.

His hand went to the low of her back. She could savour it now. The warmth – the sheer fire – of him as he spread his fingers wide across her back, smoothing his palm up the line of her spine and back.

“Read it,” he said thickly.

A shiver of pleasure threatened to overwhelm her just from that command alone.

“This Holocron, thought to belong to the Light side of the Force, has been found to contain information pertinent to our understanding of the Force and how it manifests in Force-sensitive beings.” Nothing was happening. She was bent over her desk, exposed in the worst way. And she was more alive than she could ever remember being. “The initial explorations of the Holocron indicate to me that this was known to the possessor of the artefact as a dyad…”

He smacked her. Rey yelped, looking back over her shoulder at him. His touch was wild and for the first time, his eyes were wild. Wild and dark. His full lips were half-parted, breathing low and dangerously.

He ordered her, “continue”, and she knew he would never hurt her.

“The power of a dyad is apparently strong, but this requires more research. One confirmed capability is that of Force healing, which is a rare power…” God, she wanted him to strike her again. She wanted to stop reading, and just beg but that wouldn’t be simple. She wouldn’t be _good_. She wanted so badly to be good.

Her body sang as he struck her behind again.

“Another capability that I have confirmed is the ability to…”

And again.

“Interact…”

Again, again. Each time stopping her words short. That was part of the game.

“Across a range of light-years,” Rey gabbled out, her voice lost to the sounds of his continuing strikes. She felt his body curve over hers, his right hand back on the length of her spine.

“Continue,” he panted against the shell of her ear.

“In addition, two who are… Oh!” A moan burst free from her chest, her body rolling with the rhythm of his hand. If he switched it up, smoothing his palm against her stinging behind, she moved with it, sinking into the gentleness of his touch, barely able to breathe when he swatted her in response, smoothing his right hand over the nape of her neck. His mouth ghosted over her temple in the promise of a kiss.

He caressed her now, soothing her. Gradually, her breathing evened out. Rey hummed underneath his touch, glancing downwards. In the quiet, he’d placed his left hand next to hers and now, her hand was achingly close to his; delicate where he had been so beautifully brutal.

In some futile gesture of gratitude, she rolled out her pinky finger to touch his index finger.

He snatched it away.

“We can’t do that again,” he mumbled. Turning away from her, she hurried towards the blast doors. He slammed his code into it, avoiding her eyes.

Rey sighed.

Guilt. For no reason at all.

"No."

His fingers paused over the keypad. He looked over his shoulder at her.

"Say that again."

Rey was silent as she stormed towards him. "I _wanted_ that. You don't get to be guilty."

"But..."

"I want it again."

She smiled, following the line of his movements as he lifted his hand, brushing his palm against the line of her jaw, his fingertips sinking into her hair.

“Okay. Sit at my desk.”

She sat.

“Hands flat.”

She put her hands flat on its surface.

“Feet on the ground.”

She kicked off her shoes. She was right. It was rough. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose.

“Stay there until I come back.”

* * *

There had been a good number of faces by now. The exact number, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter anyway. She lost count two hours ago. It'd been four hours total that she'd been sitting here.

The faces had been various. Peeking their heads around the doors after hearing the rumours or tentatively sitting before her, appealing, wondering, asking. Rey sat with her palms down, looking straight ahead. She was used to hunger. She was used to thirst. This was easy for her, and it amused her to see how many of them didn’t know that.

Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of datapads over the desk. 

“I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile. 

“They’re great reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.

Rey remained silent.

Maybe it was a few hours, maybe it was a few minutes. Maybe there was a whole queue outside, waiting to tell her their thoughts. Endless, endless thoughts. She understood their motivations.

That was the Resistance. They wanted to help, so badly. That was what brought her here in the first place after all.

But something else within her had been unlocked and right now, she wanted them to let her be.

A ruckus pulled her from her thoughts. Heavy-booted footsteps and the sound of yelling. Rey restrained herself from craning her neck, trying to see through the slight crack in the office’s blast doors.

“Did you know, she’s been waiting for hours! What’s wrong with you? With her? Does she get off on this shit?” said someone, snidely.

Maybe it was Poe. Rey hadn’t encountered him around the base much, he was usually off on a mission, head of the pack. It was probably someone else, come to think of it. Poe seemed to be more the understanding type than the condemning type.

There was the sound of a body slamming, like somebody picking up somebody else by their collar and pushing them against a wall.

“You don’t speak about her like that.” The voice was threateningly calm.

Moments later, the blast doors opened.

Rey was defiantly silent.

“I’m here,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, dropping to his knees beside her. His lips caressed the line of her shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She reached out her arms in response, linking them around his neck as he lifted her into his arms, cocooning her.

She chuckled, a thought coming to her as she rested her tired head against his shoulder, her eyes drifting close.

“You’re late.”


End file.
